Herido Addams and the Prisoner of Azkaban
by TaleCaster
Summary: Part 4 of the Herido Addams story. There is a mad man on the loose at Hogwarts, but never mind that. What's all this about Sirius Black?


The air snapped sharply around Morticia, swirling madly around the vast central cavern that lay beneath the Addams Estate, crashing against stone walls, and creating deafening bellows and crashes and whistles that would have had primitive man cowering in terror.

Chunks of the ancient stone wall behind Morticia crumbled to dust, but not a single hair on her head was disturbed as she watched her middle son from the mezzanine half way down the long spiral staircase. Dread curled and writhed in her stomach like the mad thrashing of a poisoned eel. It was an interesting feeling.

Herido sat on the dry ground of a large subterranean lake, his eyes closed and his face serene, as though he wasn't aware of the eight metre high walls of water that surrounded him. He sat in the lotus position, with his hands resting palm up on his knees, and Morticia's anxiety grew the longer she watched him hold back the water with nothing but his raw, terrible, yet brilliantly controlled power.

All her children were sly, sneaky creatures capable of equal carnage – but there were differences between them that couldn't be denied, and though they were all good at everything, they each had their own strengths. Pugsley was a genius, and it was not an indulgence or misuse of the word to call him so. Universities and governmental agencies had been trying to recruit the Addams heir for years. Herido and Wednesday were smart, smarter than most in their peer group, but when it came to engineering and science and critical thinking, Pugsley ran circles around his siblings.

Little Wednesday was a prodigy; she excelled at everything she turned her hand to. There wasn't a weapon in creation that she couldn't bend to her will, and there wasn't a martial arts master in the world that didn't want to fight her. Were they to fight to natural standards, Wednesday's slight frame could hospitalise a grown man with ease.

Pubert would show his strengths as he grew, but his mastery over fire would never be matched.

Herido though… Herido was the Addams child most beloved by Infernus. Singled out in fact. He had been gifted with a potent mix of passion and power – enough to tear down any conventional wisdom and melt through the sharpest of skills. He had to work for his mastery, but work he did, harder than any child Morticia had known. Nevertheless, wherever he went and whatever he did, Herido was enveloped in a warm, fuzzy cloak of darkness. And worse still, he had the imagination to put that power and darkness to terrifying use. Should he want to, that is. Not since Tom Marvolo Riddle had there been such raw potential.

Herido was the one that truly made Morticia worry. Even an Addams could be tempted; what if he wandered into a grove of unicorns and chose to _pet_ one?! If he was led astray into the Light, well, she would support him, of course, because he was her son… but all that potential in the hands of someone like Dumbledore… it would be… upsetting…

Ghasts swarmed around the far end of the cavern. The ghasts had the appearance of small, particularly badly aged house elves with torn, leathery wings, and talon like feet. To the uninitiated, casual observer they appeared to be fluttering about: in reality their wings didn't give them flight, but enabled them to rapidly pop in and out of this existence. The ghasts fluttered about the area, drawn to the terrible dark magic being exuded by Herido, while simultaneously afraid of it, and they reminded Morticia why she'd chosen this moment to commiserate.

Gomez came to stand beside her, meeting her gaze and sharing a look of concern. They shared the responsibility for what was to come. Could they really unleash such a force unto the world? Was the world ready? Did it matter? She placed her hands on his chest, and he stepped closer, holding on to her while they both looked back down to Herido.

It was time. It was here. That most feared of creatures. That terrible, hideous aberration that moved the collective solidarity of mankind to shudder and groan. That most universally worrisome, early-death-inducing, and dreaded thing…

Gomez turned back to look into Morticia's wide, worried eyes, and they both spoke to acknowledge the horror that had come to pass under their watch:

"Teenager!"

Herido was beginning to feel the strain as the pressure and weight of so many millions or more gallons of water challenged his will. Seven hundred and eighty seconds ago he had become thirteen years old, and he was determined not to lose his magic to the throws of teenage emotional instability. It was very un-Addams of him, not to give himself wholly over to emotion, but then his drive to never again be vulnerable came from a place to which no other Addams could relate.

A sharp whistle cut through the noise, and one corner of Herido's mouth rose as he directed a funnel of water to shoot out and intercept the incoming arrow, as well as the following three. Soon enough snakes of water were winding and shooting out all over in order to protect him from the seemingly never ending barrage. Wednesday had already got him once this year, and as far as he was concerned that was once too many. He continued to deflect, ever cognizant that Pugsley had yet to deploy any explosives.

He was only expecting direct attacks, so when the cavern ceiling exploded he wasn't quite ready, and carelessly sent a powerful stream over his head to wash away the falling debris. It was too much and the water fell, breaking his concentration and soon after he was swept up in the great forces of water now crashing in from every side. His body was dragged to and fro like a rag doll beneath the waves…

He was surely going to drown…

* * *

The sun was strong today, bathing the earth in its undeniably mighty power: light and heat… ugh. Wednesday was quick to excuse herself back into Malfoy Manor, leaving her brothers to watch her go with a pang of envy.

The Garden Party was in full swing, and the best of British Society mingled and plotted and gossiped in outrageously bright and airy attire. Heri took a deep swig of his home brew, wondering what kind of evil hid beneath the wonderfully cold visage of Narcissa Malfoy. His eyes hurt no matter where he looked: mismatched garden furniture, throw rugs and cushions, and so many clashing patterns. And Hades, _the flowers!_ Bright, and scented and _everywhere!_ And Narcissa , demonic dark angel that she was, seemed to have ordered an endless supply of them: about an hour into the party all the flora started to wither and die whenever Herido walk by, but no sooner had it started an elf would appear with replacements. Clearly he'd underestimated the woman.

He made a mental note: _must try harder._

With a conscious effort not to overreact to the attendance of the Addams family (though the rest of the year would likely be dedicated to commenting on the Malfoys' great triumph/disgrace), much of the gossip had to do with Sirius Black's recent release from Azkaban ('release', because in Heri's book if a prison can't hold you, it isn't a prison at all, and you are therefore free to leave whenever you like). There were many outcries of concern, and much handwringing from people like Fudge. Though in quieter conversations admiration and respect could be heard. Not only had Black accomplished the impossible by leaving Azkaban, he was a strong, defiant symbol of that to which many Pureblood families esteemed.

Herido only wondered about where the man would go. The Black family was sure to have property abroad. Perhaps he might flee to the Americas, and then Heri might get the chance to meet him, and… have a little chat.

"Do you suppose they'll let us play?" Pugsley asked, indicating to the band which gently filled the air with Vivaldi. He wore the same kind of navy shorts and striped T-shirt he'd been wearing since he was a child, but unfortunately the years of physical arts training had had their effect, and he'd grown into his frame well. Now he almost looked dressed for the event. Herido shot the cuffs of his almost-black green smoking jacket before taking out a cigar. Everyone who lived (or died, or in-between), at the Addams house was always impeccably dressed, and while not everybody could achieve the beacon of grace and good taste displayed by Uncle Fester, Pugsley was well on his way.

"No, absolutely not!" Draco appeared beside the brothers, his mint green polo shirt and khaki shorts forcing Heri to look away. All of his friends loved to torment him so. Draco was having a hard enough time keeping his eyes on the many Addamses in his home, and he wouldn't allow anything to distract him. There was something he was missing, he just knew it. Before extending the invitation to the garden party, he'd made Herido agree to certain things: no maiming or killing, no explosives, no potions, no poisons, no curses or hexes, no Addams party games, no manipulating the weather, no weapons… what was he forgetting?

"You're really much more pleasant at school, Draco." The accusation did nothing to Draco, who was watching Grandmamma flirt with the Minister of Magic, who in turn squirmed uncomfortably as he tried to extract himself from the conversation without causing offense. His eyes flickered across to make sure Mrs Addams was still sitting with Daphne and Hermione, all three of whom where appreciating the band while sipping from cups of the smoking henbane tea that had been added to the drinks table – that had melted straight through the drinks table until Thing appeared with Addams china.

Another sweep of his eyes confirmed Mr Addams' location. He was in animated discussion with Lucius and Lord Greengrass. The darker families in attendance were careful not to crowd them out of respect, and the lighter kept away out of principle. Edward Greengrass had been hesitant to support his daughters' friendships with the Addams boy, but once he learned of how much closer Daphne had gotten he decided to hedge his bets. It was early, he knew, seeing as they were just teenagers, but if he could marry one of his daughters into the Addams family then both would be set for life. He would never have to worry about them coming to harm because however you felt about the family's methods, they were fiercely loyal and protective of their own. He hadn't forgotten his initial introduction to Herido and his siblings, but overall that experience only reaffirmed his decision - he wanted his family on the right side of that kind of malice. In the eyes of the world, this meant he was breaking with hundreds of years of tradition and taking his family from the safety of neutral ground, but he didn't find this important - surely there wouldn't be another war any time soon! Besides, Lord Addams was amiable and generous, and surprisingly easy to get on with - though the speed with which Lucius had intervened when Addams suggested they go hunting made him wonder.

A gathering such as this included people from all walks of life, providing they now held a position of power or influence in Society. The commanding majority of such people came from good families, but there were two muggleborns in attendance, and so Draco didn't have to worry about people murmuring about Hermione – in the current political climate it didn't do to deride muggleborns. Not publically. Still, he did worry when Pugsley took Mr Barwick aside following a snappy comment, and… come to think of it, he hadn't been seen since… Draco had to have missed something…

"I wish the twins were here." Draco lamented, missing the amused look shared between the brothers. He knew the Weasleys would have had his back – or Fred and George at least. Unfortunately for the young heir, the entire Weasley clan had run off to visit one of the brothers – Draco couldn't remember which one – in Egypt after Arthur Weasley won the _Daily Prophet_ Grand Prize Galleon Draw. Funny how they won a draw the man couldn't remember entering…

His attention was ripped from trying to figure out how the twins had wangled the competition, when the squeal of a young girl sounded from down by the rose garden. He started toward the disturbance at a quick pace, only to realise it hadn't been a little girl at all, it was a grown man. Mr Barwick, his clothes torn and perhaps a little bloody, was running terrified from the great hulk of a _gorilla_ chasing him down to the lake.

 _Pets!_ Draco chuntered to himself as he drew his wand: _He'd forgotten pets!_

* * *

"And he preserved her beauty forever in the stars." Heri was staring at Daphne with the intense scrutiny he really should have afforded the painting. He'd never studied her from this angle before. Her face was upturned - her long blonde hair pinned away from her face, but otherwise falling freely - and he thought the small upturn of her nose and perfect bow of her lips should be considered art in their own right. She was perfect, too perfect to be natural, actually, and the longer he stared at her, the more her perfection creeped him out.

"I don't know if that's romantic, or a little sad. They didn't really enjoy one another. It's like catching a butterfly, only to pin it in a display case." Daphne said, frowning up at the muggle art. She was quite captivated with the style and detail of the piece _Bacchus and Ariadne_ by Titian, but didn't quite get it. Maybe getting turned into star constellation was just the best case scenario when a mortal and a god fall in love?

Heri looked back to the artwork, considering fancifully what sort of magic it would take to preserve Daphne in some eternal magnificence. Though he wisely kept these considerations to himself.

They were out for Herido's birthday, and had decided to spend a little time together before meeting up with their friends later. It was a similar set up to what had occurred for his birthday last year, and Herido wondered if this was to become a tradition.

"What's he all about?" She asked, indicating to the figure wrapped in snakes. Before Heri could respond, a third voice joined them,

"I believe he is intended to represent Laocoon. A symbol of both reason, and senseless agony." Heri spun to the speaker with a haste that made Daphne frown – he seemed familiar and uncomfortable with him, though she couldn't imagine why: The man was dressed in a sharp suit, the kind she respected on any man, held an umbrella, and although unassuming, he gave off an aura of composure and power. She felt Heri move closer and let him take her hand. "It is unfortunate how often those things go hand in hand, is it not?" The man's tone was light and cordial.

"Mr Holmes. What a pleasant surprise." Herido greeted him with perfected grace, though Daphne thought she could feel a strain in his close posture. Maybe she was imagining it. "Allow me introduce Miss Daphne Greengrass. Sang froid, this is Mycroft Holmes. The British muggle government."

Her eyes bugged; she was hardly an authority on anything _muggle,_ but she wasn't aware any one man had such power. Perhaps he was simply an ambassador to wizardkind, or something?

"Nonsense." Mr Holmes batted away the description with a short wave of his umbrella. "I am but a servant of Her Majesty's empire. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Greengrass." He might have taken her hand, but the Addams child was clearly very protective of the girl, and Mycroft certainly didn't see the need to carelessly provoke the boy.

Before Daphne could reciprocate, Heri spoke, "As delightful as it is to see you again, I doubt you just happened by us, so what can I do for you, sir." That caught her attention more than anything else so far: she couldn't remember hearing him address anyone as 'sir' before. Herido deemed very few as worthy of such respect, and she could only wonder what was so special about this muggle. "Do you have a job for me?" He asked, suddenly very eager. A little too eager, actually.

Mycroft smiled, but Daphne didn't find it at all reassuring. "I do so enjoy visiting The National Gallery, and her enchanting collection," he said wistfully, glancing up to the Titian, "but you are correct that on this occasion I came specifically to speak with you. Miss Greengrass, I wonder if you would excuse my terrible manners and allow me a brief word with Herido."

Heri looked past Holmes to the two armed guards in the doorway. Rationally, he knew they were there to protect this powerful man, and not as a threat, but all the same he didn't like the idea of leaving Daphne alone with them. Mycroft was clever, clever in ways Herido could never even comprehend, and he admired him greatly for it. He didn't doubt the man had dozens of schemes he could put into play with regard himself if the need ever arose. It was this lack of understanding that had Herido so very cautious – the man was as muggle as they come, with not a bit of magic or beast blood in him, but in his short mortal life he had carved out connections _everywhere_ and seemed to know _everything_. Heri had only been in the country for a few hours and yet the man had known he was here – specifically here, in the Gallery. He didn't believe for a second that he would use Daphne to make a move against the Addamses, but one could never be too careful with a man such as Mycroft Holmes.

"You may speak freely in front of Daphne." He said.

"I'm afraid this matter is rather delicate." Mycroft looked from Addams to the girl and back again. "It is a _family_ matter."

That said it all to Daphne – it had always been very clear that Addams business was Addams business and no matter how close you got you would never be privy to it. She smiled at Heri, and pulled her hand free. "It's okay. I'll wait by Van Gogh. I want to see _Sunflowers_ anyway."

Herido looked at her a moment, before shaking his head, "Always in my sight." He instructed, his eyes boring into hers. "And wand ready." With a delicate eyebrow raised in bemusement she agreed and moved away, deciding to busy herself with the other paintings in this room instead.

Mycroft sighed heavily. "Good men are so hard to train. I would prefer them returned to me in one piece." A small smirk appeared on Addams' face, though the boy didn't take his eyes from his friend until he was satisfied the guards weren't moving.

"Daphne isn't the dismembering type," Heri tried to reassure. "At least not in a room full of priceless art."

It was hardly reassuring, but nor was it very important – good men were indeed hard to come by, but there would always be more.

"Now, what can I do for you, sir?" Heri pressed. "Please do tell me I have a job." The slight pout and wide excited eyes that accompanied his words might have been sweet, if one didn't know the details of the work Herido had previously done for Mycroft. Mercenaries of the Addams calibre were worth all the gold in England, though strangely neither Herido or his older brother had ever accepted so much as a penny for their work, instead they insisted they should be paying Mycroft for the games he provided.

He hid his shudder by moving to lean on the umbrella.

"I'm afraid not." Mycroft was under great pressure never to use the Addamses again, unless there was a significant threat to the Kingdom. His little brother, Sherlock, had drafted Pugsley Addams for a job last year, and though the teenager had helped to catch (and dispose of) a vicious killer, and had prevented Sherlock from relapsing in the process, the damage to the Thames Barrier would take another year to fix. "No, I have come to discuss a shared concern." And one Mycroft was hoping Herido would take care of, thereby removing the problem without Mycroft having officially hired him to do so.

An A4 printout from the National Crime Agency was placed in Herido's hand, while Mycroft watched the boy's reaction carefully.

As Heri's eyes skimmed over the paper they darkened. He recognised the sunken faced man in the photo as his godfather, Sirius Black, and the paper was a copy of a strictly confidential national alert detailing his escape from HMP Frankland.

"And why would I have an interest in this?" Heri asked dismissively, though he had carefully folded the page and deposited it in an inner pocket. It's not like he didn't already know about Black's escape from Azkaban, it was just… something.

"I thought you might welcome the opportunity to deal with Black. Personally." The boy shook his head:

"As you well know, I am shortly to be shipped off to a boarding school in Scotland. I haven't the time it would take to track down a Black." At least not if their reputation was sound.

"I thought you might welcome the opportunity to deal with Black," Mycroft repeated knowingly, "given his close relationship with you, and the offense he's committed against you."

Heri's eyes narrowed to slits that would have lesser men fleeing, as he realised what Holmes had meant when he referred to a 'family matter'. How did the Holmes Brothers always know?! Neither Snape, nor Hermione, nor Draco would have had any contact with these muggles, and there was no paper trail, so how did they know of Herido's old identity?!

"How do you know?" It never hurt to ask. Besides, the more muggles that knew, the more muggles he'd have to silence. The Holmes knew to be discreet, but Heri would be more than happy to deal with anyone else.

Mycroft smiled, friendly, yet a little reproachful. "Come now, Mr Addams; you have your ways, and I have mine."

Herido could always get some crack for Sherlock and find out that way. Maybe. If the man's defences were already down. Then again, maybe this information was as safe in the hands of Mycroft Holmes as anyone – the man was smart enough to understand that secrets like this got people killed, and so probably wouldn't be using it against Herido any time soon. Probably.

"I have no need to deal with Black – you must know the guards of Azkaban will track him down – I'm sure they are highly motivated after he made a fool of them."

"Are they?" Mycroft countered, unimpressed. "Because he has been free for some time now, and they have yet to catch his trail. They say he's mad, and I so detest having dangerous mad men running about freely." To overhear Mycroft you might assume he wasn't particularly concerned with Black, but the fact he was here trying to set an Addams on the case spoke for itself. Herido guessed he was mostly worried that Sherlock would get himself involved - the case being too tempting.

"Dangerous mad men like your brother?" Herido asked before he could stop himself. He allowed a small smile when Mycroft frowned. "And Black isn't just mad, he's also clever – clever enough to escape an inescapable fortress." Heri didn't know why he was defending Black to Mycroft Holmes of all people, he just was. Normally he would jump at any chance to hunt down a dangerous foe, but his heart wasn't in it with Black. He respected power and brilliance and if the stories were true, Black had an abundance of both. He wanted to talk to him, definitely, because he wanted to understand why he'd taken the action that set the course for the rest of Heri's life, but until he knew the reason he couldn't find it in him to get riled up. Maybe it was the intriguing mix of Dark familial Black magic and his friendship with Light-leaning James Potter that made it so hard to believe Black would betray for anything less than love. "And there are a million reasons to become a traitor…" Heri spoke his somewhat rabbling thoughts aloud, "I have the utmost confidence that you would betray me, commendably, for the sake of Great Britain," His gaze flicked across to Daphne, "And I would betray you for her." He affirmed softly, before turning his sharp eyes back to Holmes. "If Black finds himself in my vicinity, he will most likely find himself in such agony as to make Laocoon weep, but only after I extract an explanation for his treachery. In the meantime, if he wants to play with your muggles, I see no reason to intervene."

Mycroft sighed, knowing defeat when he saw it.

"Happy Birthday, Mr Addams."

* * *

 **Welcome back ;) xx**


End file.
